That was my first mistake: being born a woman, because—and I don’t know who needs to hear this—being a woman fucking SUUUUUUUUUCKS donkey dongs!
My second mistake was failing to become an Egyptologist, randomly.
In theory, I had the chance to make ancient historian-flavored lemonade out of my XX chromosome lemons. I coulda been a contender. I had all the good fortune and support available to a young lady of the 80s. Sure I was body-shamed, bullied by boys, and had eating disorders, but I always did my homework so the same boys who bullied me could cheat off of me too.
Yet what did I do instead? Like a dummy (mummy?) I went to law school. And I did a really good job of being a lawyer, only to get unconstitutionally fired by dudes, get a dude to sue those other dudes, and wait for yet *another* dude to (maybe?!) tell the whole world that the first dudes were wrong. I would’ve been better off studying pharaohs. Check this out:
Wai wai wait. “Who cares if you haven’t seen an ice cube in a month?” Um .... *raises hand.* Rebel king or no rebel king, all those old stone statues look the same to me. Akhenaten Shmakenaten. Fuck this 200 degree Fahrenheit dig, m’kay? I just want a frozen margarita. And I’m sorry, but no number of dope tomb artifacts can trump Cuervo on the rocks with salt. The future Dr. Bryan feels at home among pyramids? WOOT for her! I feel at home lying on my couch, feeling unjustifiably sorry for myself, and blogging about a book that looks like it was made at Kinkos and illustrated by a first grader but is somehow— inexplicably—real.
Turns out being an Egyptologist is just as easy as any other career path: question, search for answers, analyze answers. That’s what I get paid to do anyway! I also do it in my personal life, like question: “why am I so fucking depressed every goddamned day?” Answer: “bad genes.” Analyze answers: “Perhaps I should climb into a time machine and be reborn as a Swedish man.”
BACK THE FUCK UP. Screw Sweden! I want to go back in time to ancient Egypt where I can read, write, own property, sue people, and work side by side with men.
I have two goals as One Hot Mess Associate Professor of Fuckery at the School of Hard Knocks: (1) never accept a Facebook friend request from someone who claims to have attended the school of Hard Knocks; and (2) dunk on my enemies and breakdance on their proverbial graves like they were 1985 West 4th Street asphalt.
But whatevs. If Egyptology doesn’t work out, I could also choose/could have chosen from among these other STEM careers. Unfortch, astronaut isn’t listed because they don’t make space suits in our size. C’mon. NASA isn’t Nordstrom Rack, ladies.